


My savior

by NYWCgirl



Category: White Collar
Genre: Crucifixion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYWCgirl/pseuds/NYWCgirl
Summary: A deranged artist kidnaps Neal to make his own version of the suffering Christ.





	My savior

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fills the ‘crucifixion’ square on my H/C Bingo card.

Pain is what pulls Neal back to consciousness. It is not gradually, it feels like he is being drawn and quartered. His arms feel like they are being pulled from their sockets. He opens his mouth to scream but no sound leaves his mouth since he doesn´t have the air to spare.

His eyes snap open but he doesn´t recognize where he is. His eyes search the source of his agony and it takes a moment before his brain catches up with reality.

He is crucified.

His wrists and ankles are bound with leather straps to what feels like a wooden cross.

‘It´s good to see you awake. I was wondering whether I miscalculated the dose, but you are probably one of those people who are more sensitive to sedatives.’

Neal startles by the voice and finds the man talking to him in the corner of the large room he is being kept in. The man is sitting behind an easel and is clearly sketching.

‘What did you do?’ Neal tries to say.

The man slowly stands up and walks up to Neal. He studies Neal for a moment.

‘You are so beautiful. I had to capture you on canvas.’

Neal snorts, but stops when he feels out of breath. He tries to adjust his feet, so he can lift himself. Once he does, his breathing becomes easier.

‘’I´m an artist myself, why didn´t you ask me to sit for you, I…’

‘Shut up!’ the man barks.

He walks back to the easel and starts sketching again.

The feeling of his shoulders dislocating gets stronger. He does his best to focus on something else, something pleasant, but the pain is just too much. When lightheadedness hits him, he re-adjusts his position again, so he can breathe easier.

The man must have noticed, because he stops what he is doing. He picks up a camera and starts making pictures.

‘You now the Roman punishment was more an art than a science.’

Neal would retort if he had the air to spare, but he doesn´t.

‘Do you feel lightheaded?’

Neal does, but he is not going to indulge this wacko.

‘When you naturally take a deep breath, you pull the muscles of your diaphragm down. In other words, you actively breath in and passively exhale. But when you are in your position, you actively inhale pretty easy because your arms are outstretched, but you have to work very hard in order to get air out of your lungs. Breathing will eventually kill you, because you cannot get air out of your chest.’

Neal closes his eyes, trying to block the man out. He needs to hang on, Peter will find him, Peter will always find him.

The pain now rapidly increases and Neal moans. He is sure his arms are dislocating. He no longer can feel his hands and he realizes he will not be able to hold on for very long. Once his arms dislocate, the pressure on his chest will become too much and he will just suffocate.

‘Are you thirsty?’

Neal gives a shaky no, he really is but he is giving this guy the satisfaction.

‘Suit yourself.’

The man continues with his painting.

Neal is not sure how long he had been hanging here, his brain is getting fuzzy and he is clearly suffering from oxygen deprivation.

‘Still not thirsty?’

Neal startles and slowly pens his eyes. The man is holding a bottle with a straw in front of him. Neal wants to drink, but he is just too weak. The straw is worked between his lips and he weakly pulls on the straw. It is clear the water is spiked but Neal doesn´t care, he is just in too much agony to care anymore. He can see the man studying him.

‘Another fun fact. When the Romans finally wanted their crucified victims to die, they broke the prisoner´s legs so they could no longer push themselves up and all the bodyweight would be hanging from the arms.’

Neal´s addled brain finally catches up.

‘Don´t please’, he whispers.

Neal closes his eyes, not ready to see the man lifting a baseball bat.

‘FBI! DROP THE BAT! NOW!’

Suddenly there is a flurry of activity and it is just too much. Neal just lets himself shutdown.

‘Neal?

‘Neal! Can you hear me?’

Neal can hear the worry in the voice and he does his best to open his eyes and answer, but nothing seems to be working.

‘Neal, we are getting the cross down, OK?’

Neal manages a small nod that he understood. The moment the cross moves, Neal screams and everything disappears.

 

* *  *

 

Neal wakes because of the pain radiating from his shoulders. He wants to feel where the pain is coming from but a hand holds his. His breathing picks up and his eyes snap open.

‘Neal! You are safe.’

It´s Peter. Neal just stares at his face, not fully comprehending what is happening.

‘What happened? He croaks.

‘That is a long story. I will fill you in later. You are admitted at Lennox. You shouldn´t try to move your arms just yet. You have two dislocated shoulders and you are wearing some reinforced shoulder braces. How is the pain?’

‘Hurts.’ is all that comes out of his mouth.

There is also a nasal cannula under his nose and he hates the feeling, it is uncomfortable, but he does as he is told and doesn´t feel for it and remove it.

‘I’ll call the nurse. Try to focus on your breathing.’

It doesn´t take long for a nurse to enter Neal´s room.

‘Good to see you awake, mister Caffrey. How is the pain? On a scale from 1 to 10?’

She checks his vitals while waiting for an answer.

‘A seven?’

‘OK, I can do something about that.’

The nurse takes a small IV bag and hangs it next to the bags already hanging there. She quickly connects it to the IV port and within seconds Neal can feel the drugs entering his system since he has greater difficulty keeping his eyes open. The last thing he hears is Peter telling him to rest.


End file.
